Chinese Takeout
by jublke
Summary: Danny takes care of Don after a hard day at work. A friendship vignette. One-shot for now. Set early in Season 3, minor spoilers for 2x24.
This is my very first _CSI:NY_ fanfic. I've watched up through season 8, so I know that Danny and Don are good friends, maybe even best friends. And Don is always looking out for Danny. Clearly, Danny must reciprocate this concern at some point, but we barely ever see it. So I decided to give the boys a moment together. Just friendship, although if you ship that way you could see this as something more. This is a one shot for now, although it's more a character study than a real story.

This is set early in Season 3, with minor spoilers for 2x24 "Charge of This Post." I don't have a beta reader for this series yet, so if you're interested, inbox me. Any errors are mine. This story was inspired by _Pizza, Beer, and the Yankee Game_ by Goldfish Girl, which is a fine little fic if you are looking for something else to read.

I don't own _CSI: New York_ or any of these characters. If I had, I would have given Danny Messer better storylines in the later seasons.

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Don Flack curled up on the corner of his couch and tried to forget the day. There was a runner - of course, there was a runner, when wasn't there a runner? - and Don had slid through the grease outside of Harry's Pizzeria during the foot pursuit and landed headfirst in yesterday's trash. Messer had collared the guy, thankfully, and thrown him in the back of the squad car before Don had emerged from the alley, rotten tomatoes and random scraps of food still clinging to his hair.

Two showers later, and Don couldn't stop shuddering at the memory. Just the thought of pizza made his stomach turn, and he hadn't been able to convince himself to eat since. He clutched at his stomach and tried to will the nausea away. Don was so wrapped up in himself that he didn't recognize that someone was pounding on his door until a voice penetrated the pain.

"Don? You in there?" It was Danny, voice laced with concern. "I'm comin' in if you don't open up."

Don heard a jingling of keys and groaned. The last thing he needed right now was Messer. A worried Danny was a surprisingly perceptive Danny, and Don knew he couldn't keep up the facade much longer.

He made his way to the door slowly, a hand still wrapped around his midsection, clutching the thin fabric of his grey T-shirt. "You woke me up," he lied. Flack peeked out the peep hole to find Danny holding up a bag of Chinese takeout. As usual, his friend appeared disheveled, wearing a wrinkled white button down shirt and tan chinos. From his vantage point, Don could see light brown hair sticking up in all directions.

"Well, you're up now and I'm hungry," Danny countered. "So lemme in."

Don cursed and flipped the locks. "It's the middle of the night, Messer," he growled, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded.

Danny raised his eyebrows at him. "So? You never go to bed before midnight and I just got off work." He pushed his way past Don into the dimly lit room and headed straight for the sofa. Don bit back a curse as Danny took in the heating pad, the bottle of ibuprofen, the liquid antacid, and the warm cocoon of blankets.

"You feelin' okay?" Danny's head turned until his worried gaze met Don's. "I stopped by the precinct earlier and the Chief said you went home early." His friend plunked down on the opposite side of the sofa, away from Don's nest, and began unpacking the food on the coffee table.

Don dropped his gaze. "I went home on time for once." With effort, he walked toward the sofa without clutching his stomach. Every step increased the pounding in his head and jarred his tender abdomen.

Danny spoke around a mouthful of chicken. "Why're you walkin' like that?"

Don didn't reply. He sat down gingerly next to Danny and tried not to wince.

"Want some chicken?" Danny waved the carton in his face. Don fought the mixed responses from his body - his mouth desperately craved the spicy food, but his digestive tract had other ideas.

"I already ate," he lied. But his stomach betrayed him with a hungry gurgle.

Danny pulled a second paper plate from the bag and began heaping it with chicken. "There's more than enough -"

"Dan! I can't eat that!"

His friend must have heard the desperate frustration that Don was trying so hard to conceal because Danny stopped, spoon in hand, and stared at Don's face. "What? You on a diet or somethin'?"

Don's arm curved protectively around his stomach. "Something like that," he grumbled, regaining his composure.

Danny's eyes flicked from Don's arm to the bottle of antacid. "Your stomach botherin' you again?" Flack nodded, almost imperceptibly, and Danny scraped the chicken back onto his own plate. "How 'bout some rice, then? I got plain rice here."

"You eat it," Don said, cracking the faintest of grins. "Goes with the chicken." He leaned back against the sofa cushions, both arms cradling his stomach, and closed his eyes.

"Do-n-ny," his friend said in a sing-song voice, stretching out the word. "You gotta eat something. You never ate dinner, am I right?"

Don sighed and opened his eyes to a plate of plain white rice and a pair of cheap wooden chopsticks. He took the offering and gave Danny a pained expression.

"I know you'd rather have a fork, but it'll keep ya from eatin' too fast. Doc said you have to rest your bowel when it acts up, right?"

Don glowered at him and wondered what else the gastroenterologist had said in front of Danny. He didn't remember much from his time in Trinity after the explosion. Just how much time had Danny spent sitting in his hospital room anyway?

The dark haired man choked down a few bites of rice and set the plate aside. The pounding in his head wouldn't stop and the dim light was suddenly far too bright. Don threw a hand over his eyes and concentrated hard on not throwing up.

"Hey." He heard Danny's soft voice hovering somewhere above him. "Let's get you feelin' better, all right?"

Don wanted to protest, but it felt nice to have someone taking care of him. Danny helped him into a reclining position, replaced the heating pad on his stomach, found a cool cloth for his forehead, and tucked in the comforter around him. An odd realization struck the detective, and he roused slightly. "You took care of me at the hospital."

"I did. Now, you lay down and take it easy. I ain't goin' nowhere."


End file.
